Chapter 3 - THE PAPERS SHE WANTED
My first wife, Emily, had died four years earlier from complications after a sudden illness.
Lily had been three.
For a long time, I could barely enter the bedroom without hearing Emily's voice. I kept her books, her scarves, and the little ceramic house she had painted during a rainy weekend.
I never expected to love anyone again.
Then Vanessa appeared.
She worked with a charity that supported families affected by spinal injuries. We met at a fundraiser. She was warm, attentive, and patient with Lily.
At first, I believed she was exactly what we needed.
Now I wondered whether she had known about my finances before she ever learned Lily's favorite color.
Thomas arrived at the hospital with a copy of Emily's will.
“Your late wife created a testamentary trust for Lily,” he explained. “You are the primary trustee until she reaches adulthood, with me as successor trustee if you become unable to serve.”
“And Vanessa?”
“She has no authority.”
“Could she get it?”
“Not directly. But if someone established that you were medically incapable of managing your affairs, they could petition the court for a temporary arrangement. That would be difficult, but not impossible.”
I stared at the document.
Emily had been careful.
She had known how vulnerable a child could become when adults fought over money.
“She left Lily protected.”
“Yes.”
“And Vanessa was trying to get around it.”
“We need proof before we make that conclusion.”
I looked at him.
“Thomas, she pushed me down the stairs.”
“I know.”
“Why are we still pretending this is a misunderstanding?”
He lowered the document.
“Because I want the truth to hold up in court.”
He was right.
I hated that he was right.
That evening, Detective Morgan called.
The police had obtained a warrant to examine Vanessa's laptop and phone records. They had also found messages between her and a man named Peter Lang.
I knew the name.
Peter was Vanessa's former business partner. She had told me he moved to California after their company failed.
The messages suggested otherwise.
He had been in Chicago for months.
One message, sent two days before my fall, read:
VANESSA: Once he signs the papers, the rest becomes simple.
PETER: What if he refuses?
VANESSA: He won't. He trusts me.
Another message came later.
PETER: And the girl?
VANESSA: She'll adjust. Children always do.
I read that sentence until the words blurred.
Lily would adjust.
As though she were a piece of furniture.
As though losing another parent figure were a minor inconvenience.
The detective said they were looking into Peter's identity and financial history.
Then she asked whether I knew of any unusual visitors to the house.
I thought of a man in a gray coat who had come to the front door a month earlier. Vanessa had told me he was a delivery driver. He had not carried a package.
I described him.
Morgan went quiet.
“Could you recognize him?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We'll send you a photograph.”
The next morning, she did.
It was Peter Lang.
And the image had been taken from the security footage outside my own house.
May you like
He had visited three times in the previous month.
The last visit was the night before the fall.
